The Meadowlark Sings

by Helen Ruth Schwartz

  "May I help you? Are you okay?" asked a woman's voice, rushing toward her. "Did you fall? Did you hurt yourself?" She reached under the table and put her hand on Cara's shoulder.

  Too stunned to move at first, Cara suddenly jumped to her feet, almost knocking over the good Samaritan who stepped aside and quickly began walking backward toward the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I'm sorry. I thought the room was empty."

  "No. No. It's okay," said a startled Cara, brushing herself off as she self-consciously stared at the face of the most sensuous woman she had ever seen. American Indian, she thought. She's got to be American Indian. Or Greek. Maybe Greek. Copper skin of porcelain with black cherubic ringlets framing a face just wide enough to accommodate the oversized muted gray eyes. Her prominent cheekbones narrowed down to a strong chin separated in the middle by a seductive cleft. If there was a flaw, and Cara wasn't sure there was, it was the perky nose that compromised the expression in her sober eyes. She moved deftly as she opened the door, obviously comfortable in her lithe body. A miniature of Cara's own, it was more delicate and petite but flowed with the same graceful, fluid lines.

  "I'm early for the briefing and I thought I could wait in here. But I'll wait in the hall." She raised an amused eyebrow, the left corner of her lips turning up ever so slightly, as she watched Cara scramble for composure.

  She exited quickly, too quickly for Cara to do anything except mumble "Okay," more to herself than to the young reporter.

  She sat down and ran her hand through the hair that fell carelessly on her forehead. I'm glad Tim isn't around to ask me how I feel about this woman, she sighed.

  Taking some paper from her attache case, she spent the rest of the time preparing an opening statement. Although the briefing would primarily be a question-and-answer session, there were some sentiments she wanted to express at the beginning in response to the silent questions of those who, like Angelico's sister, were still grieving their lost children. She was making her final notes when the door opened. Her disappointment was palpable when she saw that it was Tim.

  "Anything happen while I was gone?"

  "No," she said. "Not a thing."

  Fourteen

  The press briefing began promptly at 2:00 p.m. in an auditorium filled to capacity. The reporters, chattering in hushed tones as they exchanged information about the Calians, quickly silenced when Angelico introduced "Cara Romero, Cali's Director of the Office for the Aging and our guest at the World Conference."

  As she confidently walked onto the stage, she heard an audible gasp from the audience. She was used to that. Even in her own country where attractive women were commonplace, people reacted with surprise when she was introduced in her official capacity. But never did she enjoy the reaction more than now.

  Tim, standing in the back of the room observing the security procedures, looked up in open-mouthed admiration. In the fifteen minutes he had left her alone to prepare for her entrance, she had changed to a full Calian body suit, carefully concealed in the security compartment of her attache case.

  Comprised of three layers of progressively lighter diaphanous material, the single-piece lavender outfit was cut into a modest V-neck with a slimming waistline held together by the palest yellow floor-length sash. The bell-cut legs flowed, barely skirting the parquet as she moved across the stage. Single-layered tight sleeves of a scarcely visible lemon shade molded to her well-defined arms, emphasizing the graceful movements of an athlete. Her soft blonde hair added height to the continuum of style and color. The combination of woman and clothes was magnificent.

  Taking her position at the podium, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the lights and peered down at the assemblage. Scanning quickly, she spotted the beautiful young Samaritan in the last row. Her breath caught as her eyes focused on the incredibly sculptured face.

  Patiently, she waited for the audience to quiet down, winked at Sherry Ryan, who sat smiling in the front row, calmly put her notes on the lectern, and began speaking in the loud, clear voice of the politician.

  "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, it is with great pride that I come here today to speak before you. Pride as a lesbian. Pride as a Calian…and pride as an American…because I am that too. I was born in this country in the year 2023, the child of anonymous parents. Anonymous not by choice but by legislation—legislation caused by the religionists in this country who, upon postulating that homosexuality was evil, created an environment that mandated my banishment. And so this three-year-old, in the company of 4,000 other youngsters who had tested positive for the Scarpetti gene, was put on a ship and made a ward of the country of Cali." She paused for emphasis. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for that voyage. Twenty-nine years ago, you sent me to a budding country, replete with the love and enthusiasm born from adversity. And twenty-nine years later, I can say that I am from one of the finest, most progressive nations on earth—a nation in which crime is practically unknown, health care is universal, and the elderly live in the dignity earned by their years. I am proud of who I am and I am proud of where I'm from. To all Americans, I bring this message from the people of my country: Do not grieve for your anonymous children. Take joy, instead, in their liberation and in the fullness of their lives as Calians. Their voyage is sweet, their destination, even sweeter."

  She stopped speaking and waited for the audience's reaction. When none was forthcoming, she stated, "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak. I will now entertain your questions."

  Slowly, almost casually, the applause began. Rhythmic at first, it soon lost all sense of balance and threatened to vibrate the walls. People standing at the sides began stomping and soon the whole audience was standing and stomping. Cara, embarrassed by the response, held her hands up signaling them to stop. Gradually order was restored.

  The question-and-answer period began. The reporters were brief and to the point. No embarrassing questions were asked until the session was almost at an end.

  "Have you ever been with a male?" asked a muscular young man who stood in the back of the room.

  "Have you?" she responded quickly, eliciting laughter from the audience.

  The raven-haired Samaritan in the back row stood up. "I apologize for the rudeness of my countryman. He works lor a newspaper that we hold in very low esteem." Without another word, she turned, deftly moved to the aisle, and left the auditorium, exiting the door next to which Tim was standing.

  Cara terminated the briefing. "That will be all for today. Thank you for your attendance. If you wish to schedule a personal interview, please see Michael Angelico, the liaison for the Conference. I will try to accommodate as many requests as possible. Thank you again." She quickly gathered her papers and rushed out the stage exit.

  The Samaritan was standing near the elevator. Hesitantly, Cara began walking toward her and then stopped. What would I say, she thought. What could I possibly say?

  "You were wonderful," said Sherry Ryan, approaching from behind.

  "Thank you." Cara turned her back to the elevator and faced the pudgy woman.

  "You've given us a new perspective on Cali. You're going to get really good press out of this. Especially from me. I want to thank you for getting me into the briefing. I appreciate it. Maybe I can take you to lunch sometime. Or dinner. Or how 'bout a drink?"

  "Oh, that really isn't necessary. Thanks for the offer, but the next three weeks are going to be quite hectic."

  "I know it's not necessary, but it's something I would like to do. I'll ask you about it again as soon as the conference begins," she said smilingly as she backed away, turning to leave.

  "Whoops," said Tim as Sherry bumped into him. After a profusion of apologies, she continued walking down the hall. He turned mischievously to Cara. "Are you sure—"

  "I'm sure," she interrupted.

  "Look, don't let this go to your head, but that was one hell of a speech. And I'll tell you, you really had some of those guys going with your appearance. I don't think there wa
s a dry crotch in the room except for mine."

  "Tim!"

  "Sorry. Couldn't resist," he declared with a naughty-boy grin. "Okay, it's almost three p.m. now and you have some people waiting for you in the auditorium. Press boys, I think. While you're attending to them, I'm going to find Angelico and get some definite info on our living arrangements. I do think you should consider changing your clothes before we go into the outer world, however. That does not exactly blend with the American style."

  She winked as she left to return to the auditorium.

  Tim watched her walk down the hall and wondered if she realized just how much respect she had garnered for Cali during that briefing. It was more than her appearance. It was her demeanor, her bearing, the manner in which she spoke, the confident way she carried herself. There was a grace to the woman, a presence that transcended sexuality.

  After seeing her enter the auditorium, he began his own hunt, looking for Michael Angelico. When he finally located the press office, Tim was not surprised to find Angelico on the phone. This is a man who does better on the phone than in person, he thought.

  "I think we've solved the problem in the very best way possible, Mr. Felmar," he began as he turned off the receiver. "You and Ms. Romero, as guests of this country, will be staying at the president's New York retreat for the duration of your visit. It's located on Long Island, near the community of Stony Brook, only minutes from this building by helicopter."

  "Is it secure?"

  "Oh yes, very. The estate was originally owned by Ellyn Hargreaves, the famous blues singer, who, I believe, is now a resident of Cali. She…uh, uh…donated the house to the government before she departed the country. It is a perfect presidential retreat. Because of Ellyn Hargreaves's celebrity status, she had installed burglar alarms and special security devices. Additionally, you will have the protection of secret service personnel who are on the premises at all times to protect it from sabotage and vandalism. They are there even when the president is in DC. Yes. It's very safe."

  "How about transportation arrangements?"

  "I was just taking care of that when you entered. You will be traveling by presidential limousine. Your driver will be Leonard Malta, a senior member of the security forces. In the event of an emergency, helicopter transportation will be made available. We have taken every step necessary for your safety and comfort."

  "You know, Angelico, I'm becoming more and more impressed with your efficiency. I'm sure you've made some kind of preparation for food."

  An unsmiling but obviously pleased Angelico responded, "But, of course. The president's personal housekeeper-cook is on the premises. She will take care of all meals."

  "Thank you," said Tim. "Thank you very much."

  Fifteen

  "So, how did your meeting with the press go?" asked Tim as they were settling into the limousine.

  "They weren't from the press. They were international homosexual representatives to the conference who arrived early and decided to attend the briefing. The two men represent Sweden and there's an elderly lesbian named Liza from Denmark."

  "Now, do I have to worry about your behavior with her?"

  "If she were fifty years younger, you might. She's a charmer and very attractive, but Liza is eighty-five years old and not interested in twinkies."

  They rode in silence for a while when Tim, turning to comment on the flatness of the surrounding countryside, discovered that Cara was fast asleep, her head resting comfortably on the attaché case that held her Calian clothes.

  Startled awake by the sound of the security gates opening, Cara was surprised to discover that she had slept during the drive to Stony Brook. "But I never nap during the day," she protested.

  "Well, you did on this day," he responded.

  The estate, unfolding with each twist and turn of the pebbled roadway, was magnificent. Thickly wooded areas displayed the century-old gnarled trees that had disappeared from Cali's landscape during the fires that followed the 2018 earthquake. Warbling in harmony, caravans of birds flew hither and yon as the car emerged from the forest and entered into the flats of rolling blue-green lawns. After a few seconds, the massive house majestically appeared before them, a testament to the architecture predominant in the United States in the 1990s: wood, glass, and angular lines. It was a powerful building, befitting the woman they knew to be Ellyn Hargreaves.

  "Welcome. I'm Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper of the Marion Estate," said the round-faced elderly woman as she opened the limousine door for them. Standing there with her bright green checkered dress and her starched white apron and cap, they had no doubt that the estate was cared for with meticulous efficiency.

  "Michael Angelico said that this was the estate of Ellyn Hargreaves. Who's this Marion?" asked a surprised Tim, stretching his long legs after clambering out behind Cara.

  "Well, it was named in 2024, after President Olmstead's wife. Name of Marion." She smiled proudly, pleased that she knew the answer.

  "Some questions are better left unasked," muttered Cara under her breath.

  Following behind Mrs. Anderson, who assured them that a secret service man would take care of their luggage, the Calians entered the building through massive wooden doors that led into a ballroom-size room. Straight ahead, through a semicircular wall of unobstructed glass, were the serene dark waters of the Long Island Sound, spawning an illusion that the cliffside house was eerily suspended over an abyss. Humming softly overhead, a motor drew back the thin cypress strips that covered a second level of window wall, exposing sky and puffed clouds beneath the eighteen-foot-high cedar-striped ceiling. Smells of wood and water wafted through the air.

  "Ellyn always had good taste," mused Cara. Turning to Tim, she whispered, "That one you should have worried about."

  "But…she's more than twenty years older than you."

  "Sometimes age is not a factor."

  "Eh? The age of this house?" interjected Mrs. Anderson. "It's about sixty years old. Did you have any other questions before we move on to your bedrooms?"

  Upstairs, they were shown only their sleeping rooms. The other eight or nine doors were kept closed. Located on opposite sides of the hall, their luxurious suites were similar in size and appearance. Cara's view, however, was superior. From the small balcony accessed by French doors she could watch the waves of the sound slurping against the pristine beach several hundred feet below. She was reminded of home and the deep blue of the Pacific, although the sound was noticeably quieter. Unlike the ocean, which was host to a continuous stream of ships and pleasure boats, the sound appeared serene, almost forsaken.

  "Now, Mr. Felmar, Mr. Angelico told me to be sure to show you the alarm systems and how they work, eh? So, if you'll come with me, I'm sure Ms. Romero would like to be left alone to do her unpacking. Dinner will be served promptly at eight," she said, looking at her, "in the dining room that adjoins the main room."

  After they left, Cara quickly explored the room. Larger than the Southwind Hotel room, it contained a canopy bed, a desk, several chairs, enough dresser drawers for a year-long visit, and a divan placed romantically in front of the fireplace. Neat piles of woodless ecological logs stood on the hearth. The French doors led to the balcony, and a gray door led to a bathroom. Inside, there was a toilet, a bidet, two sinks, and a soul mates shower for two. "Fat chance of that," she mumbled aloud.

  After unpacking, she decided to find her way to the beach so she could watch a midsummer sunset over the sound. Exiting from an open door in the main room, she found herself on a grassy plateau overlooking wooden steps that led down the side of the cliff. Eagerly, she climbed down the stairs, surprised to see the edge of a swimming pool off to the side of the next plateau.

  Reaching the hexagon-shaped pool, she walked along the slate deck, admiring the pink and gray marble structure that featured an aqua jet at each of the six joints. Mists of tinted water sprayed into the air, forming a pink fluid silk screen suspended between sky and water. As she walked to the western en
d of the pool, she suddenly realized she was not alone. Straight ahead, a woman sat facing the sunset. Approaching slowly, she tried not to scare her, but just as she drew alongside the startled woman jumped up, almost falling when she turned to face Cara.

  "Good grief, you scared me," gasped the incredibly attractive woman Cara had met in the conference room five hours earlier.

  "What…What are you doing here?" asked Cara, embarrassed that these were the only words she could think of to say.

  "I live here," the Samaritan said hastily as she wrapped a towel around her nude body.

  "You live here," Cara repeated, suddenly aware that she had been staring at the exquisite naked body of the most sensuous woman she had ever seen. "But…aren't you a reporter?"

  "God forbid," she laughed. "I'm a marine biologist." Clumsily, trying to hold her towel with one hand, she put out the other to shake Cara's. "I'm Jessica Mooran, President Mooran's daughter. I guess we're destined to meet under awkward circumstances."

  "Yes, it seems so. I. . . uh…just came down here to see the sunset. I didn't mean to intrude. But…let me make sure I understand this. You are the same woman I saw in the conference room today."

  "You mean the one who found you on your hands and knees?" she asked with a glint in her eyes, her left eyebrow raised. "Yes. And I also attended the press briefing. Actually, I was in the building to get some data for the conference's opening on Wednesday. I'll be presenting the welcoming speech for my father."

  Five clays till Wednesday, thought Cara quickly. Five wonderful days to enjoy this place and this woman.

  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get upstairs and start getting ready for dinner. Will you and Mr. Felmar be joining me?"

  "Yes. Is that all right?"